In the early morning mist atop Gobbler's Knob, hours before Punxsutawney Phil predicted an early spring, Rene Van Gerven and Maria Fernanda Sanchez embraced tenderly as they listened to Green Day's lyrics, "I hope you have the time of your life."

The young lovers, one from the Netherlands, the other Venezuela, met as exchange students at Punxsutawney High School. And on Groundhog Day, the day of days in Punxsutawney, they had come to the mountaintop to pay homage to the "seer of seers, prognosticator of prognosticators, the star of stars."

"Yes," said Van Gerven, his arm around Sanchez, "we are really having the time of our lives."

It was pretty much the same for the roughly 15,000 others who withstood rain, ankle-deep mud and hours of waiting to be part of an experience they can tell their children and grandchildren about -- the annual appearance of Punxsutawney Phil, the world's most famous weather forecaster.

In a flashback to Woodstock, college kids born of the flower children of the '60s swarmed across a mountaintop for what amounted to a 4-1/2-hour rock concert that served as countdown to the main event at 7:23 a.m. Tuesday.

The peaceful crowd, more than half of them college students, began gathering on Gobbler's Knob at 3 a.m. Led by zoot-suited disc jockey Chris Lash, they danced the night away to Motown, disco and rock'n'roll the way their parents did a generation ago.

"There's a lot of energy out there," observed Bill Cooper, president of the Punxsutawney Groundhog Club. "I'd say about $100,000 in tuition went down the drain today," he said of all the students playing hookey.

Cooper, 52, a banker who wore a black top hat with a groundhog on top, said the crowd might have been a bit smaller than last year because the event was held on a weekday.

Explanations differ as to why otherwise normal people are willing to travel long distances, get soaked and wait hours to see a woodchuck predict the weather.

"It's simple. This is the perfect mid-winter experience," said Anderson, who wore a top hat and long black coat. "It's a chance for people to get out a bit."

Neil Johnson, 21, a McKean County factory worker who quit work at 11 p.m. Monday and drove 3 hours to be there, had a more concise observation.

"I have a screw loose," he said, bleary-eyed but happy.

Perhaps the most telling moment came at 6:30 a.m., when fireworks painted floral patterns on a dark, overcast canvas.

Silent the crowd looked skyward with a sense of wonder. For a few moments, they were together, at peace.

"It's not really about a groundhog. It's about people," mused Lou Blose, a retired nurse from Punxsutawney. "It's about us letting the outside world know what real people live like."

Indeed, a spirit of kindness pervades the Jefferson County town, which showcases its down-home quality on Groundhog Day. People are polite to strangers. Even the police, inundated by pedestrians and traffic, were firm but understanding.

"Groundhog Day is my favorite day," said Julie Blose, who lives in Punxsutawney. "I love meeting people. It's a good thing to do once a year."

Carol Mitchell, 42, swing manager at the McDonald's restaurant in downtown Punxsutawney, worked all night and didn't mind. At 4 a.m., she was wiping tables and serving breakfast to visitors awaiting a shuttle to the mountaintop.

"I've never been to Gobbler's Knob," she confessed. "I've always had to work."

Groundhog Day is a boon to otherwise sleepy Punxsutawney. Hotels are filled for 20 miles around. Restaurants are crowded. Souvenir hunters buy everything from T-shirts that show Phil's shadow in daylight to Phil's Choice Barbeque Sauce.

Jack Mallory, a former Penn Stater who started a groundhog lodge in California's Silicon Valley, came from the Golden State to see Phil. A retired Westinghouse human services manager, Mallory chaired the Groundhog Ball in Saratoga, south of San Francisco, sponsored by the First Sunshine Lodge he founded.

"I want to do two things in retirement -- see Punxsutawney Phil and go down into the Grand Canyon," he said. "I've seen Phil. The Grand Canyon is next."

The event also drew visitors from Hawaii, Argentina and Brazil.

On Gobbler's Knob, the moment of truth came about 7:15 a.m. -- timed for network television coverage.

Phoebe Jekielek, a senior at Punxsutawney High sang the national anthem, as college students took off their hats and joined in.

On stage, beneath a giant portrait of Phil, the Inner Circle gathered for the 112th time. Fifteen men in top hats and black coats gave a solemn tone to the occasion.

Bill "Digger" Deeley, Phil's keeper, consulted with the rodent and lifted him from his ceremonial home in a maple stump. Phil talks only to Deeley, a Punxsutawney undertaker.

The Inner Circle conferred, and Paul Johnston, a local dentist, read the proclamation.